


but if you had only told her(it wouldn't have changed a thing)

by itllbeokayprobably



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, I am so sorry, Unrequited Love, mayas pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5259437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itllbeokayprobably/pseuds/itllbeokayprobably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re in second grade when you realize you love her more than anything, and sixth grade when you realize you love her even more than that, and sometimes she looks at you like you’re her entire world and you wish you could find a way to explain that she’s yours"</p>
<p>or the one where Maya love, love, loves her</p>
            </blockquote>





	but if you had only told her(it wouldn't have changed a thing)

/

You fall in love with her by total and complete accident, though you know it was unavoidable; she is your best friend, after all, starry-eyed and sun-smiles and she sees far more good in the world than it has, than it deserves, and you think that maybe this all happened because she looks at you the same way. She is the color in your canvas and she loves you so much that it burns; she loves you more than you could ever have asked for and you remember all those times she reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world- because it was- and you thought _this is enough, this is enough, this is enough_.

You’re in second grade when you realize you love her more than anything, and sixth grade when you realize you love her even more than that, and sometimes she looks at you like you’re her entire world and you wish you could find a way to explain that she’s yours.

/

You’re not sure when you started needing her, just like a girl needs her father, her mother, you also needed your best friend.

Maybe it was because she was the only one who stuck around.

But you do know that your friendship was a precious thing, crafted in the secrets shared between so many late-night sleepovers, from the captivating idea of having someone who would be there for you no matter what, you and Riley against the world.

You leaned on each other while everything else was falling apart and held on tight, scared of the world that was reforging itself around you.

Her new world was sparkling and moral and all you’ve ever wanted was to make sure it stays that way.

/

Her first real crush is in third grade, Matthew Johnson and you remember thinking that she shouldn’t like him because his name was so incredibly boring and he chewed his pencils when he thought no one was looking.

But she swears she’s in love with him and so you find her all the daisies that you can at recess and lay them on the ground between the two of you, helping her through the tedious process of _he loves me, he loves me not_.

It’s her last petal of what you both know is a ridiculous game and _he loves her not_ , and she pretends like she’s not disappointed while you pretend like you’re not relieved.

You never tell her that you get so _angry_ with him, that you cannot stand his stupid curls and stupid pencils and horrible name. You never tell her because she’s your best friend and she’s so in love, so you watch her write Riley Johnson on all her notebooks and never say a word.

/

It’s a new boy every year after that, each more captivating and inarguably dreamy than the last, in her depictions. She loves them harder each time, and you love her more every day.

Sometimes you wonder if she’ll love one so hard that she’ll break.

You think now you understand what that’s like, to love someone so much that it leaves the pieces of you scattered everywhere, that you are ragged and hollow and empty, the pain that expands beneath your chest and behind your eyelids; and you are far too young to know what it’s like to have no escape, but that does nothing to stop the bleeding blooms inside of you.

You hate each new boy more and more and can never explain why, past the petulant reasons, past the inevitability that they could never deserve her. You hide it from her well, though, and you’re so good at lying by this point that it’s almost second nature.

It’s the sixth grade and you can’t understand why you’re so angry, the red and black that seems to consume every part of you when she simply cannot stop talking about them. You can’t understand your tears, either; they come at night while you pretend to be asleep. But they’re not for your father anymore, they’re for your best friend, and you feel so weak while the fact that you are screaming and she cannot see pulls you closer and you cannot escape.

The sixth grade, and this boy loves her back, unlike the rest of them. Leo Holder, a pretty boy with pretty eyes and pretty skin. He’s her Valentine and at first you think you’re jealous because you don’t have one, until you realize that you wanted it to be her.

Of course you wanted it to be her, how could you not? She’s your best friend in the world, and she ties all your pieces back together with pretty pink ribbon, and she is so wide-eyed and innocent and there is no part of her that isn’t good, and she loves you, so much, so how could it not be her? How could you love anyone but her?

She holds you when you cry and promises you’ll have a Valentine next year, she’ll make sure. You nod like that solves everything and refuse to tell her that you’re not interested, unless the Valentine in question has soft, wavy brown hair and starry doe-eyes that are so far from broken it hurts, unless it’s the girl with wild ideas that you swear will change the world one day.

She sneaks ice cream from the freezer that night after her parents go to bed and makes you watch all those trashy chick flicks with her because she knows you’ll never admit to loving them, and you stay up so late that there’s only laughter and there’s so much light in her eyes and in that moment, you swear that if you looked in the mirror, you’d see the same light reflected in yours.

_Just like the sun and the moon_ , you think. You’d have no light without her.

And you realize at four in the morning while the two of you are so sleepy yet refuse to let the night end, while she’s smiling and mumbling half-coherent nonsense about the future she’s planning for the two of you, that maybe it’s only natural to fall in love with your best friend. Maybe it’s the most natural thing in the world.

/

It’s seventh grade and this boy hurts even more because you don’t hate him at all, no matter how hard you try. You love him even, like he’s your own brother. Lucas is a good person, and a great friend, and you think she might really fall in love with this boy one day, and at least it’s him and not some asshole who wants nothing more than to crush all her bright and shiny pieces under his monster hands.

At least it’s a boy who’s soft.

He’s charming and snarky and boyish, and so _perfect_ that it gets under your skin. But you think if anyone could possibly deserve her, it would be Prince Charming, and he certainly fits the part. So you stay quiet and loyal and do your best to ignore the persistent ache in your chest and your lungs; there are days it feels like you cannot breathe.

/

She’s so very innocent and she’ll never know what it means to get left; she will never understand the dead things inside of you; she’ll never know what it is to wonder why you weren’t enough for someone whose only purpose was to love you.

She wants so badly to fight your demons for you, and you pretend like you’d let her if she could when really you’re just thankful that she’ll never be able to comprehend their fire.

But she’d do it for you, if she could, you know. She would give anything to make the world okay for you, and you have fallen so deep into her that she’s blotted out the rest of your sky; there is only the sun.

/

Farkle knows, you’re sure, but he doesn’t say anything. You think it’s something like forgiveness, and you’re so grateful for him, with his silent loyalty and a shoulder that’s always there when you need it. You think he understands you, too, because you’re both chasing after something you could never have.

You see the knowing in his eyes when he catches you staring at her, and you know that his pity would kill you so you’re glad he doesn’t show it. But he’s softer with you, now; he sees her falling in love and holds your hand so you won’t have to bear the weight of it alone. You wonder if he can see you spiraling out of reach into the dizzying darkness. You wonder if he could save you, if you asked him to.  

/

High school is everything you dreaded it might be, people with fake smiles and bad intentions and teachers’ eyes who see you as nothing but trouble, a smudge on their perfect picture of what they think a student should be. You spend a good bit of your time worrying about Riley, because she’s just so damn naïve, because you don’t want this world to take from her any of the things it’s taken from you. So you stand beside her in her schemes to better the lives of people who hardly deserve it and you do your best to hide all the things from her that would tarnish her ideals of this world.   

It’s on and off with her and Lucas sometimes but he’s always _there_ , in the picture, always the Perfect Prince with teeth whiter than a Hollywood cast list and a heart that Riley swears is brighter than the sun, and you want to tell her that’s impossible because no one could ever shine brighter than her, but it’s been years and you still haven’t gotten around to telling her that she’s your sun, so you just smile and nod and pray that their happy ending is tied up with one of those big pretty bows she loves, and then cry secret prayers that she won’t leave you behind when it is.

She’ll never know how badly you wish it could be with you.

/

At first it was only Farkle but now you’re almost sure your mother and Mrs. Matthews are in some sort of cahoots, and have pieced together the puzzle of your broken heart. You realize the night your mother pulls you close to her with such softness you are sure this means you are a crumbling thing, and in that moment, you are. Mrs. Matthews stops asking you about boyfriends and tells you that you’re _pretty fierce_ , and you think that’s her way of reminding you that you’re strong enough for the breaking inside of you. They meet your eyes sometimes, your mother from across the diner and Mrs. Matthews from across the breakfast table and there’s that familiar feeling, close to pity but not exactly, an understanding.

You want to tell Mrs. Matthews that you’re sorry it was her daughter, sorry that you couldn’t be the best friend she deserved, and you want to tell your mother that you’re sorry you couldn’t be a better child for her, and you wish you could explain your sixth-grade hopes that the only natural thing in this world is to love your best friend.

You’re in tenth grade and Riley is burning brighter and brighter; you’ll never let her see the fear in your eyes that one day she’ll burn out. You wish she could see the bleeding of your hands from her scalding touches when she reaches for them; you wish you could show her all the places she’s scarred you.

/

It’s junior year anda _real party_ , she keeps on reminding you, bubbling excitement and practically bouncing in her seat on the couch. It’s spin the bottle and she’s sitting across from Lucas and you hear her soft _please please please please_ every time it spins toward him, and of course it does, of course, this is her world after all, and you’re only living in it.

She drowns in his lips and you drown in your cup and that night as you get drunk for the first time ever, you can see what all the fuss is about because the pain is blurry with your vision and there’s a lovely burn in your throat and chest that’s different than the ones she leaves; you stare at the ceiling as the world spirals around you and everything is okay for the first time in so long because everything is smattered in stars.

She walks you back to her apartment afterwards, something soft in her eyes that you don’t want to see, and you cry after she lays you down in her bed, takes off your shoes, and kisses your forehead; you open your mouth to apologize for ruining her night but all that comes out is half-broken _i-love-you_ ’s trapped somewhere in your sobs.

You wake up with a pounding headache and a muddled memory, splintered vodka dreams about a happier life that you were never meant to have.

She gives you Advil and makes you breakfast (you throw it up, but it’s the thought that counts, really), and you can tell how badly she wishes she could make you talk about it, but you just shrug her off each time and tell her that it was _time to have some fun_ , and you know she’s not gonna let this go but you also know that you’ll never tell her about how you couldn’t stand to see her kissing Lucas, because that would lead to _why_ , and that would lead to the unraveling of everything you’ve built over the course of the past five years.

And you need her friendship too much for that, far more than you’d ever admit.

/

It’s senior year and Riley and Lucas got back together somewhere along the way (three weeks after that first party, you hated yourself for crying, you despised yourself for the disappointment that made your chest heave, you wish you could be a better best friend). Everyone says that they’re just like Cory and Topanga, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they got married right off high school and had two perfect kids and started this cycle _all over again_ , the perfect parents with sparkling children and wide eyes.

You wonder if Riley will have a daughter just like her and you wonder if her best friend will be in love with her, too, if this world is nothing but a string of hopeless people falling helplessly in love with the ones who could never love them back.

Some days you think about the wedding they could have, and wonder if she’ll take off your ring to make his fit prettier. The thought makes you vomit even when you’re not drunk and her love is not enough to put you back together anymore because she’s the reason you’re falling apart.

She’d be so pretty in white and you hate yourself every time you picture her wedding with too many brides and grooms that are nowhere to be found.

/

She’s so in love and it’s real this time, and you sit on that goddamned window for hours at a time while she pours out every piece of her heart before you, and he’s painted on every one of them, and on good days you can’t find your heartbeat and your plastered-on smile is realistic and on your bad days you can feel the ache buried beneath your bones.

Because you love her, you love her, you do; she makes this world bearable. That’s what you’ll tell them if anyone ever asked, if anyone understood the pain burning in your eyes and could not comprehend how you possibly bear it: it was worth it for her.

/

Sometimes you think about dying. Nothing concrete, though, only the idea of it. What it’ll be like to slip from this world’s grasp and into whatever’s waiting after that.

You wonder if it will hurt.

And you are so terrified of dying alone, young and scared somewhere the light doesn’t shine. You want her to be there with you, when it ends, to run her fingers through your hair and promise you it’s going to be okay.

You wouldn’t have to be scared, if she was holding your hand.

/

You’re only _seventeen_ and slipping away, and she’s doing everything she can to pull you back into the light but everything _burns_ and you wish it could have been anyone but her.

You get drunk on weeknights every now and again, and on the weekends whenever you go to parties. It’s easier that way, to be dizzy and numb, ragged and reckless. This heartache should not have taken over every part of you, seeped its way into your lungs and very bloodstream, but it has and you cannot escape.

She’s so scared for you; you try to hide the drinking from her but she knows, of course she knows, there’s only one thing you’ve ever been able to hide from her and that’s only because she doesn’t want to see it.

You wish you were strong enough to go without it, if only so she wouldn’t have to worry, but it makes things easier and you can’t do this anymore without blurry days and tipsy laughter.

/

You smoke weed for the first time with a boy named Jeremiah who has the most beautiful hair you’ve ever seen.

You are so _high_ and you miss her something aching, but you just laugh and laugh and run your fingers through his lovely dreads.

You don’t cry until he starts to kiss you, and you kiss him back because she won’t and you get so tired of being alone.

/

Sometimes you have nightmares about being lost somewhere dark and crying for her, calling out her name as the panic builds and tears through your chest but she’s nowhere to be found and she’s not coming back for you and the darkness starts to close in and she’s not there-

You wake up sweaty and shaking, your breaths heaving as you try to think of all the reasons you’re not lost.

Sometimes you have dreams where she loves you, after all, in every way you could ever dream of, and she tells you this while she pulls you close to her and presses kisses into your hair before pulling back and tilting your head towards her lips and-

You wake up empty and so tired, and cry every time no matter how hard you try not to.

She leaves you in your nightmares and she loves you in your dreams, and you’re not sure which is worse.  

/

You graduate high school, just barely, and she still loves that boy, and you still love her.

Of course you still love her, it’s not even a question, you could live to be a thousand years old and love her every day, and you would die loving her, and love her for whatever eternity you find yourself in. Maybe you were just put on this earth to love her, because some days there’s only two things you seem good for: sarcastic commentary and loving Riley Matthews.

You do everything you can to protect her and you just wish there was someone who could protect you.

/

It’s so _perfect_ because she’s your roommate in college and Farkle and Lucas live right across from you, and now you really get to be best friends forever.

You can feel Farkle watching you watch Riley glow under Lucas’s arm, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, you’re used to it, this ache is a constant thing and there are moments where your smiles don’t seem fake at all.   

/

Riley sleeps with Lucas for the first time and she gives you every detail on your dorm bed and you wish you could be happier for her.

She’s so happy right now, she tells you. It was just like in the movies, she whispers all breathless.

“Do I look different now? Do you think it changed me?” she asks you, turning her head both sides so you can get the full view, but you just shake your head and push down the nausea in your stomach.

“Nah, you’ll always be Riley to me.”

/

It’s the two of yours first party of freshman year and you walk a drunken Riley back to the dorms in the rain. You can’t help but smile at her uncontrollable giggles, and your breath hitches when she buries her face in your neck and laughs your name into your skin.

She doesn’t cry like you do when you lay her down in her bed, and she grips your arm and refuses to let go unless you climb in after her. She curls into your body and presses a kiss into your hair, but you just sigh and ignore all the blooms in your body.

/

It’s your junior year of college and you’re going to be an artist even if it will never make you enough money, even if you’ll end up in a diner just like your mother.

Sometimes you kiss girls at parties, and you like it because it’s softer and warmer than kissing boys, but that doesn’t change the fact that none of them are her and never will be.

Riley always wonders why you don’t date more now that you’re out of high school and can no longer blame it on teenage boys’ lack of human capability and you wish you had a better answer for her than _I’m just waiting to find the right person_ , because you found the right person in the second grade and it’s strange how fast the years have spread out since then and still here you are, loving your best friend.

/

Hope is the worst monster of this world, you’re sure, because though you don’t _want_ it and though you know it is a stark contrast to your heavy reality, you can’t keep it from humming softly somewhere underneath your veins and maybe that’s why you haven’t just wasted away one of these years, kept half alive by the spark of hope that maybe one day she’ll realize that it was never those silly boys, after all, that it was you she loves, after all.

You can get higher off hope than any drug and maybe that’s why the crash is twice as bad.

/

You’re finishing up your junior year and she’s going to _marry_ him.

Riley finally gets her Perfect Prince and you wash your bitterness into tears with heavy alcohol and cry in the shower for the life you could have (would never have) had.

You mourn your happy ending and leave your heart in a box under her bed for her to find later (you thought about leaving it under yours, but there’s nothing of yours that you don’t want to give to her, and it’s always belonged to her, anyways). Maybe she’ll find it one day a year from now and understand all the broken things inside of you. Maybe she’ll be the one cradle you while you fade away.

The world is still spinning even though she’s going to marry him, and she doesn’t take off her friendship ring but it will never shine like his.

/

You wonder if Lucas knows, too, that you love her.

You think that maybe everyone in the world can see it, that she’s the only one who won’t open her eyes.

You’d tell Lucas you’re sorry, if he ever asked you about it. He doesn’t deserve to live carrying your weight.

/

You are her maid of honor, of course, and her eyes still shine when she looks at you and she looks more beautiful than you could ever imagine twirling in her soft white dress.

She’s so _happy_ that you’re smiling, even through your tears, and you tell her how beautiful she is over and over and try not to imagine that it’s you standing at that altar and not him.

Your sun marries the sky and you are lost somewhere in outer space.

/

You break, _finally_ , on a Thursday; she’s on her honeymoon and you are alone in the apartment the two of you have shared since sophomore year. She’s almost moved completely into Lucas’s place by now, but you find her favorite stuffed animal in the floor of her bedroom (you won it for her at a fair right before you started college; she never sleeps without it), and the full weight of it comes crashing onto you now, your worst fear painted into a dark reality: _she’s left you behind, she’s left you behind, she’s left you behind._

The darkness reaches out for you and you sink willingly into its arms this time; you let yourself slip from the grasp of the sun because you are so goddamn tired and it turns out you never were enough for her, when it really came down to it.

/

Drowning is easy.

When you stop struggling, gasping, pushing against that relentless tide, and let the water tear into you and make you whole again, when you let the burning consume and devour every part of you, it’s the simplest thing you’ve done in a long time.

Surviving is what’s hard.

/

You wonder if it would have changed anything, for you to have told her.

You wonder if she could have loved you back.

/

It’s been one month and there are no colors in the world, and you are unsalvageable. She wants to fix you so badly; she’s so terrified for you and you want to tell her that it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re just done with this, that’s all. The last spark of hope in you was doused in their perfect smiles, and you couldn’t do it anymore.

You couldn’t pretend to be okay for her anymore.

You lay down in her bed because it still smells like her, because you wanted some softness, because if she’s not here to hold your hand then maybe this is close enough.

Pill after pill after pill, and it really does feel like drowning, and you see the sun behind your eyes and let yourself fall asleep for the last time smiling to a lullaby of memories playing over and over in your head, all the times she held your hand and every time she told you she loved you.

In that moment, it’s enough.

She’s enough.

/

**Author's Note:**

> i literally hate myself omg. you can follow me on tumblr if you want tho @msfrumpygills


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